We Were Nothing
by suddenlyseekingsansa
Summary: "You know out of all people that it's all on me to keep your District looking any bit reputable, because you won't stop making a fool of yourself and drinking your liver to smithereens!"  Effie & Haymitch during the 63rd Hunger Games and beyond. COMPLETE.
1. lost but now I am found

A/N: Er, hello! This is my first foray into HG fanfiction, mostly because I was sorely disappointed in the lack of Hayffie fics. Come on guys! I decided to give a bit of a backstory to Effie, mostly, and a bit of Haymitch, leading up to and past the 74th Hunger Games.

I was originally planning this as a oneshot, but I split it into two parts. Mostly so I can get some feedback to see what you guys want out of it.

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><p>The first time Effie Trinket was sent to District 12, to reap those poor, innocent souls, she was twenty-three years old. Her father was able to convince President Snow into letting his vivacious, charming, and worldly daughter into becoming an escort. Secretly, she knew he had paid him quite a sum of money, but the guilt that should have washed over her was absent. This was what she wanted to do, she wanted to serve the Capitol, she wanted to work for the Games, her favorite pastime.<p>

But then she was told she would be working in District 12.

Her heart sunk. She was fairly certain that there was only one living victor, and he was a drunk, and she can't stand the sight of alcohol. Her father drank so much sometimes that it scared her, and she vowed to herself she would never touch a glass. As she watched the scenery pass by, sitting on the train in a lush, blue armchair, she glanced at all the clear bottles filled with multi-colored liquor on the table in front of her. She sighed.

Standing up, she grabbed two bottles in each hand and shoved them into a drawer beneath the table. She repeated the process, nearly tripping over a run in the rug. Frustrated, she kicked off her pale green pumps and slammed the door of the drawer shut.

There would be absolutely no drinking on her train. She would have none of it, no matter how badly this Haymitch would react to her decree.

–

Flora Peterhouse and Gunner Kempa.

Those are the names of the tributes she drew from the huge, glass bowls. The girl was small, lithe, and her freckled face was pinched with sobs that she tried so desperately to internalize. The boy wasn't much larger than her, and looked just like the rest of the people there in the Seam.

Effie made them shake hands, and she looked over the crowd in front of her. There were so many other children that could have made better tributes. She couldn't even imagine how these two would fare with a Career pummeling them to the ground, impaling them with a sword, having arrows run right through their heads. She shivered, and as she walked the two in the Justice Building, she paused.

The smell of liquor, of a man completely soaked in it, filled her nostrils. It nearly made her gag.

Before she could find the source, however, a raspy voice spoke from behind her.

"Oh, well, look at you! Thought it would be nice having a new escort from _the Capitol_," he said with much disdain, "but you are a treat, darlin'. Divine."

"So lovely to meet you, Mr. Abernathy," she said, without missing a beat.

He chuckled, waving the bottle of liquor in his hand enthusiastically, "It's Haymitch to you, Miss Trinket."

She pulled a prim smile, her hands clasping in front of her satin, embellished, turquoise blouse. "Well, then, you may call me Effie. Only if we are to be friends, of course."

He took a swig from the bottle. "It'll be nice getting to know you, Miss Trinket."

The man emphasized her name. They were not to be friends, she assumed. She _had _ heard about what happened to his family after his Games, but he defied the rules. He had to have been punished in some way, there was no doubt about that. It always goes badly when one of the tributes tries to outsmart the Game, everyone knows that, and so should have he. She felt no sympathy.

Tucking a strand of white-blonde hair behind her ear, she cleared her throat, told him she would see him on the train, and stalked off promptly, heels clicking on the stone floor.

She heard his chuckle again as she set off, and she could feel his eyes burning into her. Violated was the only word she could come up with that described her feelings at that particular moment.

–

Effie hardly spoke to Haymitch on the train ride to the Capitol. She spoke to the tributes about the Capitol, about its ways, its culture, anything and everything about her home. Haymitch interrupted a few times to get them to come to his car, to give them tips she hoped, but seeing the looks on their faces afterwards she suspected otherwise.

Flora began sobbing every time Effie would mention the Games, and Gunner would merely grab her hand and stare daggers at Effie. If he were only a few years older, she thought, he would be the perfect tribute. She could tell he had just hit puberty... he was lanky, definitely still thin for his height, and he hardly spoke for fear of his voice cracking in front of her. He was transitioning. He wasn't a boy or a man. And Flora... well, perhaps she was quick, or agile.

Deep in her heart, though, Effie knew there was no chance her District would be winning the Games this year.

That night in the train, she sat in her bed, crying softly. Her tributes, these _children_, were going to die in two weeks time.

She felt so barbaric for watching this festival of murder every year since she can remember. She reveled in it, she looked forward to it, she picked favorites and was disappointed when they died. She never cried. These were people on a television screen, what's there to cry about?

But when she saw them in person, watched their reactions as _she _reaped them, caught glimpses of their mothers and fathers and siblings crying in the hallway of the Justice Building, saw their faces when Haymitch blatantly told them there is no hope... it all comes crashing down.

She couldn't do this.

–

Their apartment was lovely, and it had been lovely living there for two weeks. That day was the day of the tribute assessment. Effie watches as Flora and Gunner eat breakfast while drinking her tea, and Haymitch drinks his own morning brew, whatever it was. The children were already suited up in their training gear, and Haymitch had only bothered to throw a robe on over his poor excuse for pajamas.

She gives the children well wishes and she watches Haymitch walk them to the elevator, still in his pajamas, and gives him a pleading, despondent look. This was it. This decided the fate of these children. Anything lower than a six and they were gone, she knew it.

He responded with a smile. It was small, probably defined more as a smirk, but it's the first time Effie remembers him feeling the same as she did.

Gunner received a six. Flora, surprisingly, garnered a nine.

Perhaps this wouldn't be bad as she had expected, Effie thought. She saw the grin on Haymitch's face when Flora's score was announced. He was proud, and he was desperate for her to win. She had to. Neither of them could imagine her cold, dead body being retrieved from the arena.

–

It was just Flora and the male tribute from District 2 left. Effie didn't sleep anymore, ever since the girl from District 1 was eliminated from the equation. She sat with Haymitch in the living room, their eyes never leaving the television screen. There was Flora, a thirteen-year-old girl, pitched against an eighteen-year-old man twice the size of her.

He was hunting her. Taunting her. Calling out her name. Screaming things like, "I hope you said proper goodbyes to your family! You are going to die tonight, Flora!"

The arena was a desert that year. Luckily, Flora had discovered the art of burying herself in the sand, underneath bits of brush to cover her face. That was how she survived so long.

Haymitch had stopped drinking days beforehand. Completely focused on getting sponsors, getting _anything _to help this precious girl out.

Except now... now, all they had to rely on was the girl itself. She had to pull this off herself. She had yet to kill any of the tributes, and she had no weapons on her body. There was a bit of wire in her pocket, possibly thin enough to pierce the skin and cut through the carotid if she were able to get it round his neck. Effie highly doubted that this thought had crossed Flora's mind. She wasn't vicious by nature, and certainly nothing had changed in her way of thinking.

Flora died that morning, just as the sun was rising in the arena. The light had glinted off the tears on her face, and the District 2 boy found her in no time. He grabbed her by the scalp, yanking her out of her dugout, and pressed his knife to her throat.

"Anything you want to say?" He whispered fiercely into her ear, spatting a little.

She struggled against his grip for a moment, and then finally stilled. Acceptance washed over her face.

"I'm... I'm so sorry," she said, in her meek little voice. It cut through Effie's heart. She was saying it to her, to Haymitch, to Gunner, to _everyone _who had any hope in her chances of winning.

The boy drug the knife across her throat so slowly, so _agonizingly _slow that Effie nearly vomited from the sounds of the girl whimpering and gurgling. When he thrust her body to the ground, and raised his fists into the air in a bloody triumph, a raw, ragged sob escaped from her mouth.

There was a crash of glass hitting a hard surface, followed by a roar of frustration by Haymitch. He had tossed his glass of water at the wall, and all of the shards went flying in her direction. Effie felt one slice through the skin of her cheek, so slightly, enough for it to burn when her salty tears traversed over it.

"Goddammit, Effie!" He screamed, his face red with rage. The first time he had used her given name... she would always connect the memory of this day every time he said her name from then on.

Effie still sat on the sofa, though, her feet crossed beneath her. She hadn't moved since Flora was killed.

"Effie...Effie...god, fuck this!" Haymitch had stomped over to the liquor cabinet, and began throwing everything everywhere. There were bottles hitting walls, mirrors, the dining table, against the liquor cabinet itself.

Finally, Effie had had enough. "Haymitch! Stop this at once!" She yelled, turning around on the sofa to face him.

He looked at her, eyes puffy with tears. He let the last bottle he held in his hands clatter to the tile floor, and ran his hands through his hair frantically.

"Effie, she could have done it. She could have fucking done it! She gave up! That little brat fucking _gave up_," he bellowed, his voice raspy with tears.

"I know," she said, shakily. "I know, Haymitch. We all believed in her."

He laughed. Cackled was more like it. "Oh god, Effie, stop saying things like that! You sound so fucking sentimental like this is some pastime, and I'm sure it is for you and your flouncy, posh Capitol life, but do you know what it is for us? It is a constant fear. Have you ever been constantly afraid of something, Effie? Hmm? Do you know what it's like for it to eat away at you? That girl was _terrified_ the whole time, and she died thinking everyone had given up on her, and you sit here with your cute little tears for now and then you're off living it up in a couple of days!"

Every word of this felt like a sword to the stomach. The color drained out of her face, and she watched Haymitch heaving with heavy breaths.

"You have no idea, Haymitch Abernathy, what I have been feeling since I showed up in District 12 for the reaping. I was the one who condemned those children to death. I was the one responsible for Flora. I can't be like you, drowning my sorrows because I, unlike you, have a reputation to uphold!" She screamed at him, her blue eyes darkening with anger.

Haymitch threw his hands back in the air. "Oh, your reputation, is that it?"

Finally, Effie stood up and stalked towards him, bits of glass sticking to the bottom of her slippers. She pushed against his shoulders, and felt a bit proud when he thumped against the wall behind him. "I can't believe you. You know out of all people that it's all on me to keep your District looking any bit reputable, because you won't stop making a fool of yourself and drinking your liver to smithereens! You tell those children that they have no hope in winning, they are the underdogs, and that in this competition, the underdogs _never _come out on top. What good does that do to them? Please tell me, Haymitch, before I-"

Effie stopped suddenly when his hands gripped the back of her head and pulled her towards him, pressing their lips together in a heated fury. She whimpered against his mouth in protest, but relented when his hands moved to cup her cheeks. His mouth opened nearly at once, his teeth grazing, biting her bottom lip before she opened her own.

The pit of her stomach knotted up when his tongue entered her mouth, and she pulled away immediately. Her small hands were up against his chest, and she could feel his heart beating furiously. "Haymitch," she whispered dejectedly, "we're not in the right mindset for this."

One of his hands came up to stroke its thumb against the back of hers, and he sighed, leaning his head back against the wall. His eyes lowered to hers. They were still red. "Sorry, Eff," he said, and turned on his heel to walk to his room, leaving Effie standing alone amongst the destruction of their apartment.

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><p>AN: Second part is coming soon, I promise. :)

Please review if you can, they make me so happy!

Bailey xx


	2. I can see but once I was blind

A/N: Um, so, I was definitely not expecting all of the response I got for the first chapter! I am just so overwhelmed, you guys! So far, in all of the fandoms I've been a part of, THG has certainly been the nicest I've ever come across. I can honestly say that I nearly cried while I was reading one review (er...female problems), but it was anonymous and I couldn't reply. So thank you so much anon :)

I also have to say I didn't start shipping Hayffie until I saw the movie, so a lot of it is based on that, and not particularly on the way they are portrayed in the books. _Blasphemy_, I know!

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><p>That day was filled with tons of press. Even Caesar Flickerman came by to speak with Effie, his cameramen in tow. She made sure to smile a lot, to look as pleased as possible with the results. No one had come that far in the Games from District 12 since Haymitch himself, she said to him. Caesar wished her luck with her next year as escort. She still wasn't sure she could continue doing this.<p>

Haymitch hadn't bothered leaving his room during all of the interviews. Effie had to tell them that he was exhausted because he had stayed up for two days straight watching the competition, even though she knew it was a lie. She knew there was no way he could sleep right now. He had essentially destroyed every drop of alcohol in the whole apartment, and recently Effie had discovered that his one and only vice was his one and only ticket to slumber.

When all the reporters had left, and the apartment was finally quiet again, she tottered over to Haymitch's room. She wanted to finish speaking to him about last night. Knocking on the door, she unsurprisingly received no reply.

So Effie did something normally she wouldn't ever do. She pushed herself through that door without an invitation. Haymitch was laying in the middle of his bed, on his back, with his hands clasped loosely on his chest.

"They gone now?" He asked, not bothering to look away from the ceiling.

Effie smiled from the doorway. "Yes, of course. They have the victor's team to speak to."

She stood there for a few moments, watching his unmoving form. The grimace on his face was undeniable. But she wasn't the only one that felt like every last drop of hope had been removed from her soul, and shoved into a cage where it can be torn to shreds by all this publicity.

She stepped out of her heels in the doorway, her feet relishing in the soft, cushiony carpet.

Moving towards the mirror, she began unpinning her lavender wig, her back to Haymitch. She made sure the little pieces of metal were all in a row on his dresser. When she pulled the net that kept her real hair in place, the blonde mess fell out unceremoniously.

She heard him turn over. If she weren't covered by her usual thick make-up, he certainly would have seen the blush rise in her cheeks. Her hands gripped the edge of the dresser, willing herself to turn around.

"Effie," he said, his voice softer than usual. It surprised her enough to turn around. He smiled at her appearance, but then pointed to her face with a lazy finger. "Why do you wear all that?"

She cleared her throat, leaning against the dresser uncomfortably. "I would be a laughing stock if I didn't. I'm a professional, Haymitch, I have to look like this at all times."

Her voice was strong and unfaltering. Haymitch looked impressed.

"C'mere," he murmured, and she promptly followed his orders. She watched him roll over and grab a tissue from his nightstand, dipping it in the glass of water sitting on top of it. When he turned to face her again, she was sitting on the edge of the bed, legs folded underneath her.

The wet tissue touched her face, making a downward swipe down her left cheek. Effie flinched, her fingers digging into her knees. Her face wasn't horrendous, she knew she was a pretty girl, but no one had seen her like this in years. No one had seen her pink-tinted skin, the little beauty mark in the middle of her cheek, or the faint freckles that coated her nose since she was sixteen. Now she could add the raised little cut caused by the flying glass this morning to the list.

Haymitch noticed her discomfort. "I just want to see you," he said softly, "before I go. I have to see you."

She felt every layer being peeled off. Haymitch went through three tissues during the process, and Effie was so terrified of his reaction because he wasn't making any. His face was set in that normal frown of his, the corners of his lips turned down into the blonde scruff on his chin. When he finally threw the last tissue on the ground, covered in white and pink and turquoise, he sat up, gazing fully at her naked face.

Effie wanted so much to cover it up with her hands.

"About this morning," she began, looking down at her lap. Her skirt had risen up to a level she did not consider proper, and she nearly considered pulling it back down again. That was before Haymitch's hand slid over her own.

Her blue eyes focused on his, and she watched as his mouth opened ever so slightly, trying to find words. "Nothing happened this morning. Nothing is going to happen tonight. This is nothing, Effie," he whispered, and she gasped when his hands moved to grip her waist and pulled her towards him. "You are so beautiful, Effie. So real."

Her heart fluttered at his words and then intensified when his lips came into contact with her throat. She moved to lean back, but he pressed her even closer to him. Effie Trinket was kneeling in a bed with a drunkard from District 12, letting his mouth assault her neck and the collarbone that was exposed by her asymmetrical blouse and the delicate space in between. She hardly noticed that his hands had moved from her waist to the buttons that ran down one side of her blouse, unbuttoning them with expert fingers.

His lips finally came into contact with her own after her blouse was shed, tossed carelessly to the floor. His scruff made her face burn, but it was worth it. This was all worth it.

Haymitch laid back on the bed, causing Effie to have no choice but to straddle his hips in order to keep their heated contact. Her skirt rose enough for him to catch a glimpse of her pale blue lacy underthings just before she writhed against his hardness, and he couldn't help but to groan into her mouth.

One of Effie's hands played with the hem of his sweater, her fingers ever so lightly grazing over the hair below his navel. She felt him smile against her mouth, and her hands froze.

"You've never done this before, princess?" He rasped, pushing them both back up so he could dispose of his sweater.

"Of course I have!" She responded, completely startled by the nature of his question. So intrusive, so ungentlemanly, she thought.

"Good," he said, moving his hands around her back to unclasp her bra, "because this shouldn't be something important for you. D'you understand?"

She knew she should have said no, that she should have stood up and left him there, half-clothed and filled with unrequited lust. That's really what he deserved right then after the antics he pulled that morning.

But she didn't stop. All of their clothes were rid of in seconds, his hands traveling to places that normally, she wouldn't ever want them. But it felt so right, and this was what she needed, she needed to make everything feel better. He was the only person who knew how she felt, how she couldn't breathe anymore.

And as she slid onto him, began her slow, deep, undulations, heard his groans and whispers against her ear, she knew that this had to be something more than what he had implied.

It had to be.

–

Effie was given a chance to escort a more popular district. She turned it down in a heartbeat. Over the next ten years, she lived off of the glances they would share, any time he stood less than a foot away from her, the snide remarks he would make about her way of dress. She even really didn't mind the inappropriate touches she would receive when he had a bit too much to drink. The remainder of the year she would spend as a caricature of herself, parading around with her fake smile plastered on her face and her fingers always gripping the stem of her glass just for a reminder that she had to make it through the day. And the next. And the next. Just waiting for the day she would hop on that train and she could see him.

Together, they watched all of their tributes die. After Flora, Haymitch seemed to realize they would get nowhere near to having a victor. When she became teary-eyed and quiet after any tribute of theirs ceased to exist, he would give a great heave of breath and seclude himself in his room with his liquor.

They never spoke after both of the District 12 tributes were gone. In fact, Haymitch would be gone the next available train.

Her heart broke for the man. Required by law to form an attachment to these children, required by law to attempt to save them, and required by law to watch them die.

So, as she sat on the train with their new tributes, Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen, she waited for Haymitch to enter the room. Noticing that he wasn't coming any time soon, and the lack of conversation she was getting from the two teenagers was getting on her nerves, she hopped up to go and find Haymitch.

Surprisingly, she didn't find him near the bar. She traveled further down the train, to where his room was, and found him sitting on his bed, head bent back and holding a dirty handkerchief to his nose.

Hand on the doorframe, she laughed. "I have to say, Haymitch, that was not your best moment."

He swatted his hand towards her general direction, indicating his displeasure with her presence. "Sometimes, the edge of that stage sorta blends in with everything else, you know..."

Effie sighed exasperatedly and walked forward to grab the cloth out of his hand. "No excuses, Haymitch."

She began wiping off the excess blood from his face. His eyes were closed, a content smile formed on his lips, and she wouldn't have been surprised if he had fallen asleep. But of course, that was not the case.

"I don't think I could do this without you, Eff," he said, no louder than a murmur. He was so inebriated that Effie couldn't take him seriously.

"What? Clean up after yourself?" She smiled, folding the cloth into a neat little square and setting it on the nightstand.

"No... this. Preparing these kids to die," he said, getting up and pushing her lithe form away from him as he walked past.

Effie pursed her lips, not bothering to turn around. "Haymitch, just go talk to them. I heard the girl is actually quite promising."

By the time she turned her head to look at him, he had already left. She sniffed, taking one last look at the bloody handkerchief on his nightstand, and turned to leave for her room.

–

Effie did not like the girl at all. She was arrogant, rude, and she and Haymitch argued constantly. They were providing her with all these luxuries and all she did was complain. It annoyed Effie to no end.

"Come on, princess, if you were her, wouldn't you be a little on edge too? She does have about a four percent chance of survival in the coming weeks," he said, swirling his drink in the glass at the dinner table. Effie had been offended by Katniss's remark about her job, that she was a heartless woman for doing this for all these years.

The funny thing was, the only reason Effie had stayed so long was because she had a heart. And she couldn't leave Haymitch to wither away. She knew he would if there ever was to be a new escort.

"She volunteered. She knew what she was getting herself into, Haymitch," she said venomously.

Peeta shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"I think she's going to end up doing more than that," Haymitch responded. "The girl is smart. She's strong."

Effie huffed. "Well, we'll see about _that_."

–

_Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the victors of the 74__th__ Annual Hunger Games..._

They won. They won. _They won_.

She gave out a righteous squeal when it was announced, jumping up with the rest of her team in unison. Cinna wrapped his arm around her shoulders, squeezing her to him. Haymitch had lifted Portia into the air in celebration. She couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy, but shook it off because of the sheer absurdity of it.

Not but a minute later, the press was hounding at the door. It felt like hours they were speaking to them, accepting congratulations, and waiting for the moment they could finally see them again. According to the medics, it would be a while.

They sat outside of the room where Katniss and Peeta were being repaired, so to speak, hand-in-hand. Cinna kept eyeballing them from down the hallway, and Portia didn't even bother to look. Or didn't want to.

"This is unreal," she whispered, head resting on his shoulder. "I can't believe any of this."

She felt his body shake with a small chuckle. "You and me both, Eff."

Effie sighed against his shoulder. "Haymitch," she began, looking up at his face. He hadn't shaved in probably a week, and she really didn't want to ask when his last shower was.

"Hmm?" He said, his hand leaving hers to go around her shoulders, pulling her closer to him.

"After all this... Haymitch, I don't think we can be nothing anymore."

He stilled. There was no breath, no blinking, nothing to give her a hint of how he might react ahead of time.

Finally, he pressed his lips to her forehead, in what she hoped was agreement. "We can try. We can try to be something, Effie."

She smiled at him, genuinely, for the first time in years.

"I think I'd like that."

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><p>AN: Sorry for not warning you about the immense fluff at the end, haha. Thank you so much for reading and if you can, please leave a review. I love to hear what people think about my fics!

And to the ten people who started following me on tumblr because of my immense Hayffie feels... you guys are AWESOME. Thank you for all of the support!

More Hayffie fics coming soon, I am sure of it.

Bailey xx


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